[Holmes Detective Chronicles] Episode 18: The Adventure of the Spear in the Dark

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Holmes Detective Chronicles: The Great Detective of London Reincarnates as an Edo Okappiki

Author: Conan Kidoyle

Episode 18: The Adventure of the Spear in the Dark

~ The Adventure of the Spear in the Dark ~

[Introduction: The London Era]

It was September of 1894.

The living room at Baker Street was filled with a strangely ominous atmosphere that night.

A spear—or more accurately, a model of a lance used by medieval knights—lay on the table, and Holmes sat beside it with a magnifying glass in his hand. It was an item that some museum had requested him to appraise, but Holmes's face, as he gazed at the tip in the candlelight, was sterner than usual.

"Watson," he said. "How do you think you would feel if you were suddenly stabbed by a stranger from out of the darkness?"

"It would be the height of terror," I replied. "You wouldn't know the assassin's face or their motive. There is no violence more absurd than that."

"Absurd violence," Holmes repeated without taking his eyes off the tip. "But there is always a reason for violence. It only seems absurd because we do not yet know the context."

"Context, you say?"

"Yes. No matter how bizarre a case may be, if you follow the threads one by one, you will always arrive at the root of human passion. If there is someone stabbing at the night traffic with a spear, there is surely some story at the tip of that spear."

It was then that Holmes finally looked up from the tip and turned to me.

"Watson, the fog is quite thick tonight. Would you mind closing the window?"

The moment I stood up and headed toward the window—a tremendous roar echoed from outside.

As I learned later, a gas pipe in the building across the street had exploded. The shockwave blew the window glass inward, and I fell along with Holmes into a rain of shards.

My consciousness faded.

And—when I came to, I was in a completely different place.

[Main Story: The Edo Incident]

——Narrated by Santa Wato——

It was the autumn of the eighth year of Bunsei—1825 in the Western calendar.

I woke up on an embankment in Honjo, a downtown area of Edo.

Honjo is a low-lying area extending to the east of the Sumida River, serving as the eastern outskirts of Edo. If I were to compare it to London, it has an atmosphere similar to the East End on the east side of the Thames—common, a bit cluttered—but it is not as grim as that place, and it is a land with wide skies and pleasant river breezes.

The autumn night breeze was swaying the reeds on the embankment.

“You’re a late riser, Santa.”

Beside me, Homushichi said with a cool expression as he lit his pipe. A jitte and a tobacco pouch were tucked into his kimono sash. Every time I come to Edo, I think about how this man, no matter where he is reincarnated, always looks as if he has been there from the beginning. It is a strange adaptability that has remained unchanged since the Holmes era.

“Is there a case?” I asked. I remained sitting on the grass of the embankment, my head still feeling fuzzy.

“There is,” he replied. “And a rather troublesome one at that.”

“Troublesome” was a word rarely heard from the lips of Homushichi.

In Edo at that time, a series of mysterious incidents called the “Spear Stabber” were occurring one after another.

On night streets and bridges, there were successive incidents where passersby were suddenly stabbed from the darkness with a spear-like blade. Moreover, the goal was not to kill. The attacker would wound them and then vanish into the darkness. The victims had not seen the face of the person who stabbed them at all. Choosing moonless, dark nights, the phantom-like culprit would appear for only a fleeting moment—the people of downtown Edo were trembling in fear.

As a doctor trained in London, I felt a professional interest in this term “Spear Stabber.”

“When you say spear, is it not a real spear?” I asked Homushichi.

“It is likely a long pole with a spearhead attached. I judged that from the shape of the wounds. Before coming here, I heard the story from a doshin who examined one of the victims.”

“Why don’t they kill? If they intended to kill, they would have sufficient distance and weapons to do so.”

“That is the point.” Homushichi exhaled the smoke from his pipe quietly. “It may not be that they don’t kill, but that there is no need to kill. Or perhaps—the act of stabbing itself is the goal.”

It was a question of “context,” the kind we used to debate in London.

I always feel that the darkness of an Edo night is a different kind of darkness from that of London.

In London, gas lamps are everywhere, and even on foggy nights, their orange glow dimly illuminates the streets. However, in Edo at night, there is almost no light. People move relying only on the light of the moon and stars, and the most they can do is carry a chōchin—a portable lantern made by pasting Japanese paper over a bamboo frame with a candle inside. Therefore, it is extremely difficult to find witnesses for incidents that occur in the dark of night.

Let me explain a little about the system for maintaining public order in Edo.

Under the Town Magistrate's Office (Machi-bugyōsho), there are two types of officials: Yoriki and Dōshin. Yoriki are high-ranking samurai who serve as managers, while Dōshin are the ones who actually patrol the town. Compared to the London police system, it feels like the Yoriki are police chiefs and the Dōshin are the detectives on the scene. And Okappiki like us are private collaborators who are entrusted with a jitte by the Dōshin; although we have no official status, we are the closest to the scene in terms of the town's information network.

The Dōshin in charge of this 'Spear-Stabbing' case is a steady man in his fifties named Tanabe, who has worked with Torimushichi for many years.

The night Dōshin Tanabe visited our tenement, he said right off the bat, 'Torimushichi, we're in trouble. Another spear-stabbing has occurred. If that were all, it would be one thing—but this time, a strange story has come with it.'

'A strange story?' Torimushichi asked without putting down his pipe.

'One night, a palanquin carrying a woman was stabbed by the spear-stabber. The driver made a huge fuss, and when he opened the palanquin's curtain...'

'There was a woman inside.'

'That's the thing... there was no woman. Instead, a black cat was there, stabbed to death.'

I couldn't help but exchange glances with Dōshin Tanabe.

'A cat...'

'A black cat was inside the palanquin, stabbed to death with a spear. No one knows where the woman disappeared to. The palanquin bearers turned pale and ran away, and for a while after that, no one would take on palanquin jobs at night.'

A palanquin (kago) is a vehicle in Edo. It is a box made of bamboo and wood, carried by two men from the front and back using a carrying pole. It is similar to a London sedan chair, but it is covered with curtains so that the person inside cannot be seen from the outside. It was used especially often for women going out.

'Stabbing from outside the curtain means...' I said. 'The spear-stabber stabbed it thinking there was a woman inside the palanquin. But what was actually there was a cat.'

'That seems to be the case.'

After a long silence, Torimushichi spoke quietly.

'Tanabe-san, was there anyone else near the palanquin at that time?'

'There was an experienced Okappiki. A man named Shichibei... he was also chasing the spear-stabber. That night, he noticed a woman on the embankment and called out to her. Then the woman suddenly struck Shichibei's hand and disappeared. Shichibei says the spear-stabber appeared right after that.'

'Can I meet Shichibei-san?'

'You can. However... Shichibei is a bit discouraged right now. Because a man who has done this job for many years was caught off guard by a single woman.'

“Understood. Let’s go meet him tomorrow.”

Shichibei was a veteran okappiki (detective) around sixty years old who lived in Kawara-cho, Honjo.

When we were shown into a room in the tenement, an old man who looked terribly withered was sitting with his hands on his knees. Deep wrinkles were etched into his face, and the skin under his eyes was dark. It was clear he was a man who had weathered many years of hardship, but now he looked as if some great confidence had been shattered.

“Are you Torikiri Shichi? I’ve heard about you.” Shichibei looked at us and bowed slightly. “I’m ashamed to show you such a sight. To be handled like this by a single woman...”

Shichibei showed us his right wrist. A bruise remained, dark and blue.

“What was the woman like?” asked Torikiri Shichi.

“She was around thirty. A thin woman with sharp eyes. She had her kimono hem tucked up high and was barefoot. I thought it was strange for a woman to be barefoot on such a cold night, but... I never expected her to strike.”

“Barefoot,” Torikiri Shichi repeated. “Hem tucked up, and barefoot.”

“Yes. Her movements were almost... like a man’s.”

Torikiri Shichi slowly turned the bowl of his pipe between his fingers, as was his habit.

“Shichibei-san, let me ask you one more thing. What was the positional relationship between the place where that woman appeared and the place where the spear-wielder always shows up?”

Shichibei thought for a moment. “Now that you mention it... the place where the woman was was always slightly before the place where the spear-wielder appears. If you’re talking about the top of the embankment versus the bottom, the woman was on top, and the spear-wielder came out from below.”

“The woman is the lookout,” Torikiri Shichi said quietly.

Shichibei’s eyes, though aged, flashed sharply.

“...You mean that woman was signaling the spear-wielder?”

“That is the most natural conclusion. When you called out to her, she judged you to be an enemy, struck you, and fled. Perhaps the signal to her accomplice, the spear-wielder, was delayed, or perhaps the spear-wielder intentionally jumped out amidst the confusion.”

“Why didn’t they flee?”

Torikiri Shichi paused for a moment.

“I understand that, too. Shichibei-san, the reason you were caught off guard was not because you were weak. Nor was it because the woman was exceptionally strong. It was because you hesitated to hurt a woman. As an okappiki’s instinct, you held back for a split second against a woman. That opening was exploited. This is no shame.”

Shichibei bowed his head in silence. However, it seemed as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his face.

...Can I leave this case to you, Torikiri-shichi?

Leave it to me.

It was evening when we returned to the tenement house, and as we lit the andon lamp and ate our meal, Torikiri-shichi began to organize the case by counting on his fingers.

An andon is a lighting fixture consisting of a wick soaked in an oil dish, lit and placed inside a paper-covered box. The flickering flames cast shadows on the shoji screens, and the way this man pondered in that light strangely overlapped with the image of Holmes sitting in front of the fireplace in London, clutching his violin.

"Santa, there are two mysteries regarding the spear-wielder," he said. "One is who is doing it and why. The other is the mystery of the black cat."

"Shall we start by thinking about the black cat?"

"No, these are connected. The fact that there was a black cat in the palanquin instead of a woman means—the woman who was supposed to be in the palanquin disappeared before she could be stabbed. Disappearing means she wasn't in the palanquin. Which means either the woman wasn't in the palanquin to begin with, or she slipped out along the way."

"If you lift the curtain, can you get out without being seen from the outside?"

"It's a cramped palanquin, but it's possible for someone agile. And they left a black cat behind instead. This is no coincidence. It's better to assume the cat was put there intentionally."

"Why would they do such a thing?"

"To scare people, Santa," Torikiri-shichi said quietly. "The people of Edo tend to believe in superstitions. If a dead black cat suddenly appears from inside a palanquin, the palanquin bearers and witnesses alike will be terrified, thinking it's the work of a monster, and run away. If there are no witnesses, the culprit is safe. Moreover, since black cats are considered symbols of bad luck in Edo, the more the rumors spread, the more it will hinder a proper investigation."

"I see... Is the spear-wielding itself also part of that terror?"

"Yes. This is not just some random street slasher or robbery. Someone is targeting a specific person for a specific purpose."

"A specific person?"

"The woman who was in—or appeared to be in—the palanquin with the black cat is the key. If we investigate that woman's identity, all the clues will come to light."

From the next day, we began to move.

First, I asked a subordinate named Tatsukichi to interview the palanquin bearers. Tatsukichi was an agile young man with a wide network of contacts in town. In the downtown areas of Edo, the existence of such well-connected 'subordinates' was the lifeline of any investigation.

Edo's information network has characteristics that differ from those in London. In London, newspapers convey information, but in Edo, despite the literacy rate being higher than in London, word-of-mouth rumors spread with overwhelming speed. There are kawaraban—single-sheet woodblock-printed newspapers—but in terms of breaking news, people's mouths are faster. I had learned during my life in Edo that half of an okappiki's job is swimming through this sea of rumors.

Tatsukichi returned in about half a day.

"Boss, I found the palanquin bearer. He's the one who was carrying that palanquin that night."

The man—a palanquin bearer around thirty—still had a half-frightened look on his face, but he began to open up little by little due to Torimushichi's calm demeanor.

"I picked that woman up near the entrance to Fukagawa. It was dark, so I couldn't see her face well, but judging by her voice, she was a young woman. I was told to carry her to the residence of a certain hatamoto in Honjo... but on the way, I suddenly felt the palanquin get lighter. I thought it was strange, but as I kept walking, I was suddenly stabbed from the outside..."

"You say the palanquin got lighter before you were stabbed from the outside," Torimushichi confirmed. "Whereabouts did that happen?"

"At the crossroads before the embankment... when the wind picked up a little, the curtain swayed. It might have been then."

"What was the name of the hatamoto's residence?"

"They said it was Lord Fujishima's. In Honjo..."

Torimushichi's eyes shone quietly once again.

"Santa, do you have any idea about a hatamoto named Fujishima?"

"No," I shook my head.

"However, Shichibei-san might. Let's visit Shichibei-san once more."

Upon hearing the name Fujishima, Shichibei's face changed color.

"Fujishima... are you talking about Fujishima Monzaburo?"

"Do you know him?"

"I do. He was a hatamoto who lived in Honjo until about two years ago. I don't know where he is now, but... that man has a troublesome past."

Shichibei began to speak with a heavy heart.

Fujishima Monzaburo was a minor hatamoto—a low-ranking direct retainer with little land—who had a residence in Honjo, but it is said that about two years ago, his gambling debts piled up, he lost his residence, and he vanished somewhere. At that gambling den, there was a ronin—a masterless samurai—known as a spear wielder. His name was Komagata no Monji.

"Monzaburo and Monji," I said. "Their names are similar."

"There was a rumor that they were related by blood," Shichibei said. "Brothers, or father and son... I don't know the details."

"And, is there a common thread among the victims of the spear stabbings?" Torimushichi asked.

After thinking for a while, Shichibei slowly nodded.

...Now that you mention it. Among the victims, there were two clerks from a money exchange house. And one person from an employment agency.

A money exchange house is a financial business that exchanges gold, silver, and coins, similar to a bank in London. An employment agency is someone who makes a living by mediating for servants and craftsmen—perhaps what we would call a recruitment agency today.

Could those businesses be involved in the place where Fujishima lost his gambling debts?

...It is possible.

Torimukiri Nana stood up quietly.

Santa, we are going to the embankment tonight.

Do you intend to lie in wait for the spear-wielder?

I would prefer to say I am going to meet them.

That night, we went out to the embankment in Honjo.

The autumn night of the Bunsei era was deep, and there was no moon. The sound of water birds could be heard in the distance. The flow of the Sumida River made a low sound in the darkness.

I wore a haori over my thin kimono to suppress my shivering. A haori is a short jacket worn over a kimono, equivalent to a London jacket, but it is open at the front and not tied with an obi. Men use it for formal wear or protection against the cold.

Torimukiri Nana had me wait in the shadows below the embankment, while he stood on top of it.

He held a single lantern and stood there intentionally to be conspicuous.

Are you planning to be a decoy? I whispered.

It is necessary, he replied. Santa, are you prepared as a doctor?

Always.

Then, do not be surprised by whatever happens.

A long silence followed.

The river breeze was cold, and the reeds rustled every time they swayed. I held my breath in the darkness, squinting to watch my surroundings.

At that moment—a black shadow moved from somewhere on the slope of the embankment.

A figure holding a long pole is heading silently toward the top of the embankment, aiming for the light of Torikiri Shichi's lantern.

"That's far enough," a voice called out from beside me.

It was Shichibei—Torikiri Shichi had hidden him in a different spot beforehand—the old man stood up from the ground and held his jitte at the ready.

The figure stopped moving for an instant.

That became a fatal opening.

Torikiri Shichi jumped down from the embankment and kicked the figure's long pole from the side. With a dry sound, the pole rolled down the slope of the embankment. The figure resisted, but was quickly pinned down by the pincer attack of Torikiri Shichi's strength and Shichibei's jitte.

When I brought the lantern close to illuminate his face—it was a thin man in his thirties. His eyes held a light like deep-seated resentment, but at the same time, they were mixed with a color of profound exhaustion.

"Is it Komagata no Monji?" Shichibei asked.

The man did not answer. However, he did not deny it either.

"Is the woman Fujishima Monzaburo's sister?" Torikiri Shichi asked. "Is this out of resentment toward those who collected your brother's debts?"

The man slowly closed his eyes.

"...I didn't intend to kill them. I just... I only wanted to scare them. My brother died because of those people."

Everything became clear the following day.

Fujishima Monzaburo had been driven into a corner, unable to repay his gambling debts, and had taken his own life six months prior. The ones who had collected the debts were the employers of the spear-thrusting victims—money changers and labor brokers.

Komagata no Monji was a ronin and a distant relative of Monzaburo, and a master of spear techniques. He had plotted revenge with the sister, Omoto (Monzaburo's daughter), intending to intimidate the debt collectors by wounding them without killing them.

The incident with the black cat was because Omoto had realized she was being followed and, when she quickly slipped out of the palanquin, she had impulsively left behind the cat she usually kept. She had not intended to use the cat, but as a result, the rumors spread and confused the investigation.

"It's a pitiful story," Doshin Tanabe said while organizing the documents. "We have to hand over Monji and Omoto, but..."

"The authorities' job ends there," Torikiri Shichi said quietly. "The rest is for the judge to decide."

In the Edo judicial system, the Town Magistrate also served as the judge, and there was room for extenuating circumstances. While not exactly the same as the British jury system, the Edo legal system was not without mechanisms to take human compassion into account.

On the way home, I walked along the embankment side-by-side with Torikiri Shichi.

The surface of the Sumida River glowed orange under the autumn sunset. Across the river, smoke from the town of Edo rose quietly. Tens of thousands of people lived there, each carrying their own circumstances and sorrows.

"Torikiri Shichi-san," I said. "Do you think revenge is right?"

"It is not right," he answered immediately. "However, it is understandable. Those are two different things."

"You, in your Holmes days, must have said the same thing."

"Perhaps," he said, putting his pipe to his mouth. "Human passions take the same form in London as they do in Edo. Even if the place changes, human nature does not."

A bird chirped and flew away over the embankment at dusk.

I kept ruminating on the words Shichibei said at the end in my heart—"Thanks to Torikiri Shichi-san, I can still continue this work."

I felt that those words from the old detective taught me the meaning of my work here in Edo.

[Conclusion: London Era]

When I realized it, I was in the living room on Baker Street.

The window glass was shattered, and the wind from outside was blowing in. I knew it was the aftermath of a gas explosion from the scattered fragments. Holmes was kneeling beside the armchair, and he looked at me and stood up slowly.

"Watson, are you alright?"

"I am fine," I replied. "I was having a strange dream."

"A dream of Edo?"

"Again?"

"Again," Holmes said, looking at the model of the spear on the table. The model was tilted slightly from the blast, but it was not broken. "Watson, we were discussing the motive for the act of stabbing from the darkness, weren't we?"

"It was about the context. That there is a reason for every act of violence."

"There was such a man in Edo, too," Holmes said quietly. "A pitiful man. But in the end, he killed no one. That is important, Watson. He could have killed, but he did not—that was not weakness, but something that remained within him until the end."

"Humanity, shall we call it?"

"Perhaps it is more like Edo to call it 'jo' (compassion)," Holmes smiled faintly. "Now, I must ask for the window to be repaired. Watson, could you call Mrs. Hudson? No—one thing before that.""

"Something"

"Next time I go to Edo, I'd prefer a slightly warmer season. The autumn night on the embankment was a bit much to bear."

I couldn't help but laugh.

Outside Baker Street, the September London wind rattled the broken window frame.

This work is written with respect and gratitude to "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes" by Arthur Conan Doyle and "Hanshichi Torimonocho" by Kido Okamoto.

Author: Conan Kidoyle

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